When I was 7, “Santa” left a Gameboy on our doorstep, wrapped in a blue blanket. My parents had no idea who gave it, but I remember Mom tearing up. Dad thought it was from a family friend.
Last year, after Dad passed, Mom confessed the truth: the Gameboy was from my biological father, who had flown in from abroad to meet me but couldn’t. He left it as a gift, knowing I’d never know it was from him. The blanket was from a brief fling with my mom.
Nearly 20 years later, I finally understand. I’m not sure I can forgive my mom, but I’m thankful I didn’t know then. My dad, the man who raised me, was the best father I could’ve had, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to feel betrayed.
